


A Study in Mythology

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Curious Sherlock, Dancing and Singing, F/M, Gen, Innocent Sherlock, M/M, Merlock, Overprotective Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock, dancing sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although he loved London with her bustling streets, cluttered roads and fast pace lifestyle, John had jumped at the chance at taking a break from it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dazed Eyes and Dry Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's one of those. I have another one in the making too. Why? Because I love Mermaid Sherlock, okay? I know it's been done before but I don't care!
> 
> Leave a comment, let me know what you think!
> 
> *The title and the tags kind of give away what sort of fanfiction it is so what Sherlock is isn't really a mystery to us, but it is to John.  
> Also, I got inspired to post this one (and the other one once I write it) because of Riptide Lover by jinglebell. Not read it yet it? Then I really must insist that you do so. Right now!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/2312978/chapters/5090789

John inhaled deeply through his nose, tasting the salt on the sea air, and closed his eyes as he turned his head towards the wind. Although he loved London with her bustling streets, cluttered roads and fast pace lifestyle, John had jumped at the chance at taking a break from it all. He’d not long returned from Afghanistan, returned with a head full of nightmares, a shoulder decorated with scarring, a tremor in his hand and a thundering pain in his leg. John had spent weeks alone in his little bedsit, plagued by visions of war and blood, alone and miserable, until he had stumbled upon Mike Stamford, an old friend from way back, whom had offered to lend John his holiday house tucked away near a private beach in South Downs. At first John had declined the offer, thanked his friend, and tried to assure Mike that he was quite fine actually, just fine, but Mike had insisted and in the end John had accepted the offer with a bloom of warmth for his friend and murmur of thanks.

John opened his eyes and scanned the beach, it was a vast stretch of sand, marked every now and then with a cluster of jagged rocks. John could remember family holidays in his youth with beaches that looked like that beach did, that seemingly stretched for miles with a hundred plus things to see and discover. Harry and he had often wandered off with a bucket and spade, collecting shells, pebbles, seaweed and the occasional starfish and crab. John smiled distantly at the memory and walked further towards the shore, peering down the right side of the beach. 

He stumbled with his heart in his throat when he noticed a flash of pale skin and loose limbs near a rock that was shiny with blood, and stood frozen for a second before adrenaline pumped rapidly through his veins and propelled his body forwards. 

When he reached the body he hovered, momentarily shocked at the nakedness of the masculine figure, and then knelt down to reach over for a pulse and search for injury. John found a pulse at the arched neck, strong and thrumming, and sighed with relief. The injury was at the head, a knock that had broken the skin of the scalp and bled profusely. John shifted the tangled, damp and blood-soaked dark curls away for a closer look and touched a bared shoulder.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” John shook the shoulder briefly and then pulled back delicate eyelids to check the pupils, which had the immediate effect of rousing the stranger. John lifted his hand gently as to not panic the person and smiled softly. “I’m a doctor.” 

The naked, injured, man squinted up at John, dazed and confused, and shifted with a low grunt and inaudible mumbling.

“It’s okay – don’t move yet – can you remember what happened?” John asked, pressing the man back down to the wet sand. 

“I…hit my head,” the man whispered after a long considerable amount of time, voice deep and rumbling but pitched higher in alarm near the end.

John nodded as he checked for any more injuries, “Yes. Yes, you have. You may have concussion. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

The man took a little too long to reply but finally he shook his head slowly, to which John stopped him with a gentle hand, “No…only my head.”

“Right, we need to get you to a hospital,” John said, and reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. “Do you know why you’re naked?”

“No!” The man exclaimed, and slapped at the phone in John’s hand. “No…no…no hospital.”

“You’re hurt, you may have concussion…I think it’s best if you get checked out at a hospital, just in case--”

“You said you’re a Doctor,” the man pointed out.

“Yes, but--”

“You can treat me. You are a…capable doctor…are you not?”

John sighed and leaned over the man, shielding his face from the sand, as it was suddenly kicked into the air by a cool, sharp breeze, “You need to go to the hospital.”

“No.” The man said curtly, stubbornly looking up at John, his eyes hard but still glazed.

The man stared John down until John clenched his jaw and exhaled deeply through his nose in disappointment and exasperation, “Fine. Let’s get you inside. The house I’m staying at isn’t far away…” John said and slowly helped the man to his feet, fleetingly looking over his naked body for injuries once more. “Are you sure you are not hurt anywhere else?”

“I am sure.” The man breathed as he cringed and cupped his head.

“…Why are you naked?” John asked again as he shrugged out of his jacket and threw it over the man’s shoulders. The man was tall and lean, and his jacket did little to cover the man’s nakedness.

“I…I don’t know…” the man mumbled.

“Were…were you sexually assaulted? If you were…you must tell me, do you remember? Can you recall where your clothes are?” John asked gently as he walked the man across the beach.

The man shrugged and leaned heavily into John’s side, eyes screwed closed and grip tight. John tightened his own grip in return and all but dragged the man in through the house and down into a chair next to the fireplace.

“Here, let’s get you warm,” John murmured as he started the fire and walked off to rummage through the cupboards, thankful to find a fully stacked first aid box. “I’m just going to clean the sand and the blood off…”

The man was silent as John worked, head lolling slightly, and only opened his eyes again when John pushed back his damp, salt-encrusted curls. “Thank you…”

John smiled at the whispered response, “I still think you need to go to the hospital.”

The man’s mouth twisted into a small smile and then the mouth was catching John’s in a warm chaste kiss. The man sank down into the chair when John jerked backwards, and frowned at him in confusion.

“Uh…” John started awkwardly, coughing and rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Thanks, I’m…flattered, but…I’m not that way inclined.”

The man’s confusion only seemed to deepen, the crease between his brows lengthening.

“I…I’m not gay,” John clarified with his own small frown.

“…gay,” the man repeated, as if rolling the word around in his mouth to understand it’s meaning.

“You…do know what that means, don’t you? I’m not into men. I’m straight…” John said and bent down to look the man in the eyes. “Are there any gaps in your memory? What year is it? What’s the date? Who’s the Prime Minister? When’s your birthday?”

The man blinked at him slowly, a tad blearily, and then inhaled with understanding, “Ah. Right. That wasn’t correct then? Sorry, I…I’m not very good at social interactions. I don’t rightly understand humans—that is, people, I don’t understand people. I saw that people would kiss others in gratitude and affection, so I thought--”

John laughed, “A bit not good, yeah. People don’t really kiss strangers…not usually, anyway. I’m flattered though and I’m thankful for the show of gratitude, if that’s what it was, but no, you don’t really kiss people as a thank you.”

The man nodded and winced in joint humiliation and pain, “Right...”

“It’s okay,” John assured him and patted the man on the shoulder, albeit a little awkwardly. “But listen, I might still need you to answer my questions, just so I know you’re not suffering from amnesia or anything like that.”

“The year is 2012, date is the 28th of January, I have no clue whom the Prime Minister is and don’t rightly care either, and my birthday was the 6th of this month.” 

John stared at him a moment, shifted his weight, laughed and then frowned, “You…you don’t know who the Prime Minister is?”

“No. I don’t care and it doesn’t matter to me, it doesn’t relate to anything important.” The man said dismissively, touching his head hesitantly. 

“Doesn’t relate—how doesn’t it?”

The man let out an put-upon sigh and shot John a narrowed, annoyed look through the glaze in his eyes, “I am only interested in certain things, these things do not, in anyway, connect with whom the Prime Minister is or who is sleeping with whom--” he huffed, waving an indifferent hand.

“Remarkable,” John snorted shortly, a mixture of amused and flabbergasted. “I mean, sure, a lot of people may have various opinions on who the Prime Minister is, but I’ve never met someone who doesn’t know who it is!”

“…Well, now you have,” the man sniffed, flitting his gaze away and inspecting the room with sudden interest before locking with the fire. The man suddenly leaned forwards toward it, hands outstretched in curiosity, as if he hadn’t seen a fire before, or been that close to one at any rate. The whole gesture and posture of the man reminded John of curious and eager children learning something new for the first time.

“Careful,” John commented and moved the man back again to continue with the treatment of the head wound, checking the man’s pupil response with a small torch that the man tried to grasp and snatch from his hands in irritation. “I need to double check. Hold still. Look at me, please.” 

The man obeyed after another sniff and John was happy to note that his eyes were slightly brighter, clearing from their earlier glazed state. After John had wrapped the man’s head in gauze, thankful that the gash didn’t need stitches, he looked at the man’s nakedness again and got up to unfold a bed sheet from the nearby airing cupboard, draping it over him. Taking back his jacket John smiled comfortingly and patted one bare shoulder. 

“Stay there and warm up for a bit. If you feel queasy at all, let me know. The same goes for any resurfacing memories about the location of your clothes,” John said and packed up the first aid kit, watching the man as he watched the fire with a slowly beaming smile and an expression of mischief and glee, his bare toes wriggling and clenching against the rug beneath them.


	2. Mycroft Holmes

The sudden banging at the door woke John and he snorted with a wince as he jerked upwards from his slumped position on one of the chairs near the fireplace. The fire was still smouldering but had died down somewhat, heat still leaking to stroke and circle around John’s feet, and John looked at it with a frown as he stood up, stretched and turned towards the door at another bout of knocks.

“Don’t open it,” hissed a voice in his ear and John jumped as the naked man he’d saved on the beach earlier walked passed to sneakily and discreetly peek through the net over the windows.

The man was still naked, the gauze still fixed to his head, but he seemed less dazed, his eyes clear and skin pink from the heat of the room. The man huffed and stepped away from the window, and then looked around intently, eyes jumping and flitting from one area to the next as he wandered around, brushing passed John as he rushed to the back window.

“What are you doing?” John asked, looking back at the front door as whoever was outside knocked a little harder. 

“He has clothes,” the man was muttering as he fiddled with the latch, shaking the window frame irritably as he worked out how it opened. “Where did he get clothes? Why can’t I have clothes? It just isn’t fair; he gets to do everything, be anywhere, yet I’m not allowed to even swim with--” He trailed off into a bundle of clicks and throat noises that made John’s eyebrows leap towards his hairline.

The man must have noticed how weird it sounded because he cut himself short when he realised John was staring at him and cleared his throat, flashing John an innocent and overly friendly smile as he pushed the window open and leaped out.

“Oi! Wait a second,” John exclaimed, running to grab the windowsill and lean out, only to lean back in just as the man popped back into view with a scowl, covering John’s mouth with a hand that smelt of the sea.

“Quiet!” The man growled, letting John knock his hand away with only a look of frustration.

“You’re naked!” John told him, ignoring the man as he shushed him and tried to cover his mouth again. “You’re naked, you can’t just go leaping out of windows naked and—would you stop that? What’s wrong with you? Who even is that?”

The man sighed loudly and opened his mouth to explain but noticed the abrupt lack of knocking at the front door and shoved John back with a sudden scrambling, climbing back into the house and shutting the window, locking it and sitting down under it just as a figure of a man in a suit walked into view. The suited man saw John as the netting over the window settled and John frowned, glancing down at the naked man huddled and hiding.

“Know him do you?” John asked. “He’s not the person who did this to you, is he?”

“What?” the naked man whispered, waving John’s words away irritably. “No!”

The suited man tapped on the window with what looked to be the handle of an umbrella and John looked up with a frown, “Who is he then?”

“No one,” he replied quietly, only to roll his eyes at John’s incredulous expression, and look sullenly at his knees. “My brother—but I don’t wish to see him. He’ll drag me back and I don’t want to go back. In fact, I never want to go back again! I want to stay here…” 

The naked man pressed harder against the wall, curling up as small as he could and looked up at John with a kicked puppy expression, mouth downturned and eyes wide and shiny. 

“I’m going to regret this, I just know it,” John muttered and stepped over to reopen the window, smiling out at the suited man in greeting and ignoring how the naked man clung to his legs. “Hello! You didn’t have to come around the back, you know. I was just about to open the front door. Was there something you needed, seems mighty important?”

The suited man eyed John with a probing gaze and a small, polite but condescending smile, “Quite. My brother has run away from home, you see. I was under the impression that he was here?”

John frowned gently and shook his head, glancing out the window briefly at the overcast sky, “No, sorry. No one here but me. What does your brother look like?” John asked, shifting his weight when the naked man’s head pressed against his thigh warmly. “Do you have a photo or something? Perhaps I’ve seen him? I’ve not been here long though, a few days or so.”

“He could have sneaked in while you were dozing in your chair,” The suited man offered, eyes roaming over John’s shoulder to the inside of the house with interest. “…Are you hurt?”

“What?” John asked, following the slight incline of the suited man’s head and his line of sight to spy the first aid kit that he’d left on the side table. “Oh. No, well, not fatally.” John laughed and didn’t elaborate, leaning on the sill to block the man’s view subtly.

The suited man smiled at John again, a smile that wasn’t exactly friendly but not threatening either, “Would you mind awfully if I…took a look around? My brother has a way of getting into places, you see. Dreadful habit of his, I’m afraid. He can be quite the menace, breaking and entering, taking things that don’t belong to him, mixing with the wrong crowd, you know the type I’m sure? His mother is frantic with worry, as am I, we just want to make sure he’s all right.”

John nodded slowly, “I bet. Well, sure, you’re more than welcome to check, but I’m certain I’m alone in here,” John said, nudging the naked man with his knee until he felt him slip away. From the corner of his eyes John watched as the naked man shuffled up the stairs and into what had served as John’s main bedroom. “Come around, I’ll open the front door.”

Shutting the window again John took a deep and steadying breath, glaring over at the bedroom door as it closed silently. Taking his time to open the door, John debated whether or not to give up his strange naked guest and rubbed a hand down his face. There were still so many unanswered questions.

The suited man was waiting for him patiently when he finally swung open the door and John plastered another smile onto his face and gestured to the house with a sweep of his arm, “Please,” he murmured. “Do you want a cup of tea whilst you’re looking around—Sorry, I never asked your name, Mr?”

“Ah, it’s Holmes, Mycroft Holmes,” The man replied, eyes suddenly locked on the damp ruffled blanket draped over the chair near the fire as he walked inside. “And no thank you, Mr Watson.”

John felt a cold chill run down his spine and frowned, licking his lips, “Right—How did you know my name? I don’t believe I told you?”

“Didn’t you?” Mycroft Holmes replied in a mumble as he headed straight for the stairs with a tilt of his head, stopping only briefly to peek into the kitchen. “Do you mind if I check upstairs as well, Mr Watson?”

John trailed after him with suspicion “Um, no. No…but there really isn’t anyone here.”

Mycroft hummed lowly in response and walked into the bedroom without hesitation. John tensed and held his breath, trying to peer into room discreetly as he paused at the top of the stairs. The bedroom looked empty to John, not a thing out of place, but Mycroft cocked his head and wandered to the window, pushing the curtains further aside to finger the unlocked latch and find the window slightly ajar. John watched as Mycroft pushed it open and leaned out, looking instantly up to the roof.

“You don’t think he’d be hiding on my roof, do you?” John couldn’t help but ask, listening out for any kind of tell tale signs regardless.

“No. Of course not,” Mycroft replied with another one of his smiles. “That would be extremely idiotic and dangerous…well, I can see he’s not here as you informed me. I’m sorry about the intrusion.”

John moved aside as Mycroft all but floated back down the stairs, “No worries,” John muttered, glancing back at the open window briefly before he descended the stairs and met Mycroft at the door with a forced grin. “You sure you don’t want to check the rest of the house? You only--”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mycroft answered, cutting John off as he stepped outside with a tap of his umbrella, eyes flicking upwards as soon as he turned to face John again, bowing slightly. “Good day, Mr Watson. Thanks again.”

“No problem, Mr Holmes. I wish you luck on finding your brother,” John responded a tad cheekily and lifted a hand goodbye when Mycroft turned one more searching gaze to John’s roof. 

John dove back into the house when Mycroft turned his back, shut the door, and rushed upstairs only smack headlong into the naked torso of his guest at the top. 

The naked man beamed at him with a boyish sort of expression and grabbed John’s face in his hands, kissing him with a comical smacking of his lips, “Thank you.”

John spluttered, wiped his mouth, and shoved him back with a half-hearted glare, “You’ve run away from home then, have you? What the bloody hell was all that about? Did you really just hide on my roof from your own brother, and naked to boot? What the hell even happened to you before, where are your clothes—and where do you think you’re going?”

John followed his naked guest back down the stairs and into the kitchen where it seemed as though the fridge had been ransacked. Food of all kinds littered the kitchen table and the counters, some thrown to the floor, half eaten.

“Holmes!” John exclaimed, recalling the man’s surname. “Holmes!”

The younger Holmes didn’t respond, merely sniffed at a jar of honey with interest, unscrewed the lid and dipped his finger in, “Oh! Oh, this is delightful!” the man said once he’d tasted the contents.

“Oi!” John exclaimed, snatching the jar from him and catching his wrist when the man went to innocently lick the remnants from his slicked digit. “What are you doing?”

“…Eating?” He replied with an arched eyebrow, turning to reach for something else before John manhandled him out of the kitchen and back into the chair before the fire. The man clicked at him in irritation. 

“Who are you? What happened to you on the beach? Where are your clothes? And is what your brother told me true?” John asked, hands on his hips as the younger Holmes brother jutted his chin out stubbornly, picked at the blanket, and curled his legs up onto the chair. “Perhaps I should just go call your brother back over? He can’t have gotten very far--”

“I was swimming, all right?” Holmes answered brusquely. “I was swimming, I got caught up in the current of a wave when I miscalculated the strength of it, and hit my head on a rock as a result.”

“Where are your swimming clothes then?” John frowned. 

“I like to swim naked,” Holmes told him, looking at him in the eyes with a blank expression. 

“So,” John started, sitting down across from him in confusion. “You ran away from home to…to go swimming, naked, and then you hit your head on a rock?”

Holmes smiled falsely at him and nodded, jumping to his feet, “Yes, now, if you don’t mind I was in the middle of--”

“Sit back down,” John told him darkly, lifting his eyebrows when Holmes lingered on his feet. “Now, Holmes.”

Blinking, he tilted his head and then nodded with understanding and dropped back into the seat, “Listen, Doctor--”

“No, you listen, Holmes. Let’s say I believe your little story, or better yet, let’s say I don’t rightly care how you came to be here, the fact of the matter is that you are here, in this house, with me and I just lied to protect you for reasons unknown, because it sure as hell wasn’t for some reward or--”

“Would you like a reward?”

John sighed and leaned back in his chair, “No, that’s not what I’m getting at. I mean, I helped you out, twice, and you haven’t done anything but lie to me since you got here. Now, you might have your reasons, your secrets, and I respect that, and I can definitely understand your need to hide from that pompous arse you call a brother, but I still need something in return. Let’s start with your full name for now? Start afresh and all that, my name’s John Watson.”

Holmes smiled and inclined his head, “Right, yes. John Watson,” he said, sighing in the next second. “My name is…is…Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes…”

“Sherlock,” John repeated with a smile of his own. “Good. Now, Sherlock, can you remember where you left your clothes? Because you can’t very well walk around naked longer than you already have.”

Sherlock looked away, wiggled his toes, and then glanced shyly at John from his brows, “And what if I don’t remember where my clothes are?”

“Then we have a problem,” John muttered.


	3. Follow You Home

“Well?” John said in a breath, holding back his annoyance at spending so much whilst looking at Sherlock, knowing he was going to regret his charitable nature when he got back home and was unable to afford his rent. “What do you think?”

Sherlock looked utterly delighted with the clothes he wore and jumped up in glee, fisting his hands and then pacing shortly, buzzing with energy, “Oh, this is good! No, this is more than good, this is fantastic, absolutely, blissfully fantastic!” he exclaimed happily, forcing a grin onto John’s face despite his frustration. “When can we go?” 

John blinked in confusion, “Go?”

“Go back to where you live,” Sherlock clarified, gesturing around the room. “You obviously don’t live here, you live somewhere else, a city, a city filled with people—Oh I can’t wait! The sights, the smells, the crimes! I’ve heard the stories of what goes on there, the devious minds of serial killers and murderers and cheaters!” 

“Hang on,” John interjected, lifting a hand to stop Sherlock’s vigorous pacing. “Who says you’ll be going anywhere with me?”

Sherlock’s face shuttered and fell, “Well…I…” he stuttered, thrown for a moment before grinning knowingly. “You’re looking for a new place to live, aren’t you? Somewhere better than where you live currently, I could help you.”

John quirked an eyebrow, “Oh, yeah? How?”

“I have my ways,” Sherlock replied with a dismissive wave, moving to one of the windows to look out at the rain hitting the glass with a look of disappointment. “Why does it have to be raining? It’s always raining. No wonder so many people move aboard…”

“Aren’t your ways…illegal?” John asked.

“What?”

“Your brother informed me that you’re quite the rebellious scamp, that you break into people’s houses and steal things, hang around the wrong sort of people--”

Sherlock snorted and walked to fall heavily into a chair, “He’s just sore because I finally escaped his and mummy’s clutches.” He muttered, sitting with his legs drawn up on the seat. “And if anyone hangs with the wrong sort, its him, not me.”

“Right, well, regardless, I don’t think it’ll be a good idea for you to go anywhere with me, we only just met and you live here, your family is here. In fact, perhaps it’s best you go back home later? Or is there anywhere else you can go? Have any friend’s you can stay with?” John suggested, lowering himself into a chair also with a long and deep sigh. 

“Can’t I stay here, with you?” Sherlock asked with a frown. “And anyway, I can’t leave, it’s raining.”

John huffed a laugh, “So?”

“So I’d get wet,” Sherlock told him slowly, speaking to him as if he were a child.

“Yes?” John scowled. “So what if you do?”

“I can’t get wet,” Sherlock told him like John should know better, his expression shifting a second later. “I could… catch a cold. Let me stay here with you. Please? Just until you have to leave? It’s not like you have anything better planned.”

“And how would you know?” John asked.

Sherlock pointed arrogantly at him, “Because you’ve been here at least two days, perhaps three, and you’ve done nothing but hobble up and down the beach looking wistful and troubled,” he drawled. “You’ve had ample time to plan something, but you haven’t, you’ve come here to get away; probably from your horrid living conditions and the hustle and bustle of the city—though I can’t understand that. This place is so dreadfully boring; I yearn for the overwhelming, hectic, grimy, unpredictable--”

“How do you know what I’ve been doing?” John interrupted, squinting in suspicion and leaning forwards crossly. “Have you been spying on me?” 

Sherlock blinked and eyed John’s posture, shifting his position on the chair uneasily, “Spying is such an ugly word…”

“Oh my God.”

“…I prefer observing.”

John got angrily to his feet, throwing his hands up in the air, “Unbelievable! You mean to tell me you did it all on purpose? To what end? To hide from your brother? To use my generosity to buy more clothes and a place to stay for the night?”

“You think I purposely cracked my head on a rock?” Sherlock asked in bewilderment, a deep crinkle between his brows and his nose wrinkled. “Risked serious brain injury, just so you would hide me in this, frankly, disgusting home?”

“Yes,” John said at length. “I don’t know you! For all I know, you planned the whole thing just to rob me blind!”

Sherlock gawked at him, “Amazing. You have quite the vivid imagination, John.”

John fumed with a twitch of his eye and a clenched jaw and strode to loom over Sherlock, “Well, why did you spy on me?” 

“Because you’re the most interesting person here!” Sherlock exclaimed, standing up in the small space between John and the chair, forcing John to look up as Sherlock towered above him. “I didn’t plan anything but my escape from my brother—and no, it had nothing to do with you, I just so happened to smash my head in my attempt and you were lucky enough to find me.”

“Lucky, indeed,” John huffed, folding his arms and then planting them on his hips the following second, pacing in front of Sherlock a moment. “…You really found me that intriguing that you spied on me?”

“Observed,” Sherlock corrected. “And yes. You came here haggard and unsettled; I was interested to know why.”

John looked up at Sherlock’s face and then sat back down with a loud exhale, “Right…”

“You still interest me now,” Sherlock told him, trying to lift his mood. “I mean, look at you. First your shambling with a cane and then you’re half-carrying me into this place and successfully--”

“Wait, what?” John said, suddenly realising that he was indeed without his cane and had been the entire time since the moment he had spotted Sherlock on the beach. He stared at his empty hand in amazement and glanced out the front window at the rain-soaked beach where his cane was probably still lying. 

Sherlock grinned and made a strange warbling like sound in the back of his throat as he span on the spot and marched back into the kitchen, “I’m hungry!”

“Oi! Wait, no! No, no, no, no! You’ve messed up the kitchen enough in your hunt for food that you like,” John said as he scrambled after him, grabbing Sherlock’s arm gently and stepping into the untidy room with a look of exasperation at the disorder. 

Sherlock slipped out of his grasp and headed straight for the honey jar again, dipping three fingers into it and then swirling to rummage through the small pantry, throwing things over his shoulder after sniffing them with a loud and vibrating clicking that made John jump in shock.

“What’s with those noises?” John asked, catching a thrown potato and stalking over to yank Sherlock back by the shoulder and replace all that he had chucked out with methodical movements.

“What noises?” Sherlock asked before a lemon distracted him and he bit into it without hesitation, blinking rapidly at the resulting taste, his mouth pursing tightly but then curling in a smile as he smeared it with honey and took another bite, jumping up on the kitchen counter athletically to reach the high cupboards. 

John turned and looked up at him, “Get down from there! What’s wrong with you?” 

Sherlock dropped a box of cornflakes on John’s head and thrust his hand along a shelf, knocking off other assortments of food, and John grabbed for his ankle and squeezed until Sherlock scowled at him, his attention shifted.

“Get. Down!” 

Sherlock sighed but leaped back to the floor beside John, “I was just looking.”

“Well, stop looking,” John told him, sweeping a hand at the mess. “You’re cleaning this up. Now.”

“When do you go back to the city that you’re from? Three days from now? Four? Five?” Sherlock asked, seemingly disregarding what John had said, licking honey from his fingers and slurping at the lemon until John snatched it away.

“Clean this mess up!” John told him sternly, motioning with the lemon irritably.

“Will you be taking transport? A…taxi cab?” Sherlock continued to ask, stepping around John and over the fallen food. “Would it cost extra for one more person to accompany you?”

“Holmes!”

“Watson!” Sherlock countered just as loudly with a look of displeasure as he turned to face John, fingers still sticky and slick with honey. 

“If you don’t clean this mess up,” John said with a slow breath. “Then you’re not going anywhere with me. At all.”

Sherlock eyed the room sulkily. “And if I do, then you’ll take me with you?”

“If you do, I won’t throw you out in the rain, how about that?” John smiled scornfully, pleased when Sherlock jerked into motion. “Put it all back from where you got it from!” 

Sherlock stacked his arms full and dashed around the kitchen, slotting things back into place and popping a few foodstuffs into his mouth in the process, his jaw working as he hummed. The humming thrummed through the air and John swayed at the rising bout of shivers it produced up his body; it shifted in pitch and John huffed, frowning deeply at Sherlock as he twirled about the space between them, dipping his head to brazenly slurp up some more honey. The humming stopped when he suddenly clicked in annoyance and climbed back onto the counter to push the cereal box that had hit John into its rightful place.

“Careful,” John muttered as he watched Sherlock walk along the counter, balance perfect and muscles working as he hung off cupboard doors and a metal rack of pots and pans.

Once Sherlock was done he jumped back to the ground, looked at John expectantly and then moved to the window to glare at the increasing rainfall, “This won’t let up until later tonight,” he grumbled, pressing his forehead to the glass like a moping child.

John wondered if he was somewhat autistic and moved to his side to peer out of the window, their shoulders brushing, “What did you want to do outside so badly, anyway?”

“Go into town,” Sherlock sighed, breath puffing along the cold surface like the foam churning over the sea. “I wanted to walk around, possibly with you if you were amiable.”

“We can do that tomorrow, if you like?”

“I heard that the local fish and chip shop is owned by a paedophile,” Sherlock mumbled, glancing at John to see his reaction. “I wanted to see if it were true.”

John laughed shortly, “How? You think he’ll just be fiddling with kids the moment we turn up?” he asked, feeling bad even for suggesting it in such a flippant way and clearing his throat awkwardly.

“That would be ideal,” Sherlock nodded, not seeing that John wasn’t being serious. 

“What would you do if you somehow did find out that he was a paedophile?” John asked, curious despite himself. 

Sherlock shrugged and then suddenly looked dangerous, “Deep-fry his face.”

John blinked and hesitated a moment, swallowing with nervousness until Sherlock turned to smile at him widely, “Well, can’t say I’d stop you.”

“Do you like fish?” Sherlock asked apparently from nowhere.

“Yes. Some,” John answered with amusement. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Sherlock shrugged. “But when that’s mostly all you seem to eat, it can get a bit dull. Like this stupid weather—Is it ever not raining?”

John laughed and patted his back, “That’s English weather for you.”

“It’s dismal,” Sherlock complained, turning to face John after a few minutes had gone by. “…Can I stay with you?”

“Sure,” John shrugged with a small smile. “You certainly make things…interesting. Be nice to have company for a bit, even if I did come here to get away from people.”

Sherlock shook his head and leaned against the windowsill, “No, I mean…can I stay with you? May I go back home with you?” he asked, lifting a hand when John opened his mouth to speak. “I hate it here, John. I don’t want to be here any longer, I want to make something of my life, I want to do something—I have so much to offer, so much. I’ve never seen anything but the sea for so long. I want adventure, I want change…”

“I…don’t know,” John sighed, feeling awkward and perplexed at the stranger’s need to stick with him. “You don’t need me for any of that. You can go out into the world yourself. You’re old enough to make your own decisions and take control of your own life. Go see what you want, do what you want, no one is stopping you…well, not anymore at least.”

“When you met me I was naked and was quite willing to wander around as such,” Sherlock reminded him, tilting his head with a curling grin. “I’ll be lost without you, John. Lost and naked.”

John snorted with laughter and then stared at Sherlock for a moment, “…You really want to come and live with me?”

“Yes.”

“You sure? I mean you want adventure, you said? There’s nothing adventurous about me. Nothing ever happens to me,” John told him. “You’d probably get bored.”

“Never,” Sherlock retorted before he pressed his lips together and held out his hand timidly, as if he were unsure if he was doing it correctly.

John looked down at it in deliberation, shifting his weight on his leg without discomfort whatsoever; flexing his hand that no longer shook with an intermittent tremor; and grabbed Sherlock’s hand warmly, both of them silhouetted against the window as they grinned at each other.


End file.
